All That You Can't Leave Behind
by RedSox33
Summary: A serial rapist case hits home. GSR but hey, what can you do? This is before the season six finale, so none of that Grissom Sara established relationship nonsense. Other CSIs are on the case too, never fear. All done! Yay! Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1: Sara

_Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own any of the CSIs in this fic. They are the property of CBS so CBS gets the final say on these characters, even though I think it's about time we saw Greg do the robot._

--

Sara Sidle awoke with a start.

She took a moment to orient herself, blinking a couple of times. She must have dropped off while searching through the missing persons database for a possible ID on her victim. For a second, she regretted not going paintballing with Nick, Greg, and the rest of the team. Spending the night with science geeks was bad, but not nearly as bad as spending the night with a bunch of people whose whereabouts were unknown.

She stared at the computer screen for another couple of seconds, and not registering anything, decided to take a break. Stretching as she stood up, Sara made her way down to the break room.

It was deserted, but she didn't really mind. Crossing over to the refrigerator and hoping she wouldn't find anything too grisly, she opened it, rummaging through its contents. A rotten smell wafted up to her, but she had learned to ignore these things. Deciding not to investigate the suspicious-looking container in the back of the refrigerator, she settled on the yogurt that Catherine had just brought yesterday. Hopefully, with the airtight seal, it wouldn't taste like the decomposing whatever Grissom had decided to stick in the refrigerator.

"Sara?'

Sara turned around to see Grissom at the doorway. "Hey, Griss," she greeted, opening the yogurt and noting with a certain amount of relief that the smell of strawberries was stronger than the smell of death.

"What are you doing here?" Grissom asked her, rather surprised. "What happened to paintballing?"

"You know, something about having Greg chase me around with a gun didn't really appeal," she responded lightly.

Grissom gave a wry smile, though she could tell he saw through. "You could have just taken the night off."

"Me?" Sara scoffed. "And leave you here alone? With, what," she gestured at the refrigerator, "Billy the rotting the brain?"

"Liver, actually," Grissom corrected seriously. "I wanted to see exactly how liver cells responded to exposure to--"

"Spare me the details," Sara groaned. Seeing as her appetite had disappeared, she threw her yogurt away and sat down at the table. "Speaking of unidentified livers, I went through missing persons to see if there was a report filed that matched the circumstances of our vic. It doesn't look good."

Grissom sat down next to her. "Nobody is nobody," he said. "Our vic can't hide forever."

"Mmm," Sara agreed. Grissom had an uncannily reasoned way of looking at matters, something Sara couldn't always do. "I just don't get it," she finally said. "He was just a little kid! Who wouldn't notice that their five year-old was missing?"

"Maybe there wasn't anyone there to notice," Grissom pointed out gently.

"That's just the thing! Who would ever abandon their own child? That's…" she trailed off.

Grissom had no answer for this, but his presence still comforted her. A small silence ensued, but it was not unnatural. She could tell that he was absorbed in his own thoughts and was content in letting him think. She liked it when he became quiet like that, and his being there soothed her anger, even though nothing about the case had changed.

She was about to open her mouth again when a small beep cut through the silence. Grissom responded immediately, reaching into his pocket and producing his cell phone. "Grissom." He listened, frowning. "I'll be there right away," he said after a moment. Closing the phone, he stood up. "Brass. A DB's just been called in."

"All right," Sara agreed, standing up as well. "Let's go."

Grissom opened his mouth as if to talk, but then closed it again. He was silent for a second. "You sure you don't want to take a night off?"

Sara tried to hide her annoyance. "And let you have all the fun?" She started towards the exit. "I think not." She didn't have to turn around to se the characteristic eyebrow raise that accompanied his acquiescence.

The car ride over was silent, albeit short. They arrived in a rundown parking lot of a small convenience store a couple minutes later. A portion of the parking lot was marked off by yellow crime scene tape, but Sara could see no dead body.

Grissom sensed her confusion. "It's in a car," he said. He gestured to a black Toyota sitting in the middle of the marked-off section. "That one, I'd say."

Detective Jim Brass was there to meet them, as usual. "We might be looking at a suicide," he told them curtly. "The store manager called the police after he noticed the car had been in his lot for a couple of days. Apparently he had told it to move and got no response." He gestured at a nervous little man who was standing a little off, flanked by two policemen.

Grissom had opened the door of the car. The Toyota was too small for two people to fit inside, and Sara waited at the impatiently. Grissom, however, was unusually quick. He emerged from the car a minute later, face grim. "She's dead all right, but it's not a suicide," he told Brass. He raised his eyebrows at Sara. "Want to take a look?'

Sara nodded, though she could feel a slight apprehension creeping up as she saw the blood splatter on the beige inside of the car door. Pushing the door open, she crawled into the backseat.

A grisly scene met her eyes. There was blood everywhere, splattered over the entire interior of the car. A young blonde, maybe in her early twenties, was sprawled on the seat, her arms and legs positioned at unnatural angles. One look was all Sara needed to see where the blood had come from – the young woman's wrists were cleanly slit. Upon closer inspection, she understood what Grissom had discovered.

"The cuts are clean," she shouted. "No sign of hesitation. And the cut on the left wrist tapers off towards the lateral side." Had the woman cut herself from left to right, as they all do, the cut would have tapered off towards the inside of the wrist. Instead, the cut was made form right to left from the point of view of the woman, indicating that an outsider her slit her wrist.

She could tell that Grissom was pleased as she climbed out of the car. "This is now a crime scene," he informed the officers, handing her the kit. "Sara, take pictures and collect anything you can find in the car. I've called the coroner and he's on his way. I'm going to talk to the owner." With that, he headed off in the direction of the store manager.

Ducking back into the car, Sara snapped a couple pictures of the body. She was tempted to put the woman back into a more humane position, but knew better. Instead, she tried not to look at the body as she searched the car. There was a lock of blond hair on the front seat that indicated a possible struggle, and Sara took a couple pictures before bagging it. She proceeded to check the purse that was on the passengers seat for a wallet, but finding nothing, could only assume that either Grissom or Brass had already taken it. Nothing else that seemed of great importance was in the purse, but she took it anyway.

Seeing that there was nothing else to search, Sara had no choice but to return to the body in the backseat. The amount of blood splatter indicated that there had been a struggle while the woman bled out, but there was no sign of whether or not the killer had been in the car while she as struggling. Snapping a couple final photos, Sara climbed out of the car. "There isn't much in there," she told Grissom, who was crouched on the asphalt near the car. "A lock of the vic's hair in the front seat indicates a struggle. I'm thinking she was pulled out the front seat and into the back."

"I could buy that," Grissom replied, pointing to something on the asphalt for Sara to see. "More hair, right outside the car."

Sara bent down, snapping a couple pictures so Grissom could bag it. "What did the manager say?"

"Not much," Grissom admitted as he aimed the flashlight further down the asphalt. "He didn't see anything or hear a struggle. But he said that it had been a busy night."

Sara glanced at the rundown store. "Busy enough so that he didn't notice a struggle outside? She put up quite a fight. I find it hard to believe she didn't call for help."

Grissom shook his head. "It's what he told me. But Brass is working on it." He inspected a spot on the pavement before moving on. "Anything else?"

"Blood in the car indicates that she had been moving around after her wrists had been slit. There are extensive bloodstains on the seats near the doors. She was clearly trying to get out."

Grissom frowned. "She was _in_ the car. One would think that the one on the _outside_ would have a hard time opening the door."

"That's the thing," Sara pointed out. "There must have been someone preventing her from opening the door. The thing is, I can't get any evidence of another person in the car."

"Maybe we're not looking in the right places." Grissom nodded to the door handle. "Did you check for prints?"

"That's what I came out for." Sara dusted the handle. "I've got a distinct set of prints." Taking them off, she pocketed the evidence. That seems to be it, though. There's only one set. And for all we know, they're our vic's."

"Then we'll have to look elsewhere." Grissom stood up. "I don't have anything either. I think our best bet is the body. We'll run it for semen and see what we can get. We'll take it from there. We'll look for stains in the car when we get it back to the lab, if we need to."

Sara nodded, stepping aside as the coroner arrived. "So this is the new case?"

"Yeah." Grissom nodded. "I want you on this one." He paused. "Unless you don't want it."

Sara watched the body as it was lifted from the car. A feeling of dread had washed over her when she first saw the woman's wrists, but she wasn't going to let Grissom know. "I want it," she replied quickly.

"I'll transfer the old one over to day," Grissom said. "I have a feeling we're going to need the entire team on this. We can hope for the best on the body, but as of now, we have virtually nothing to go on."

"We'll find something," Sara assured him, stifling a yawn. "Even the lack of evidence is evidence, and it never lies." She stopped. "Hell, that's one of _your_ mottos."

"You're learning, my young Padawan." Grissom gave her a wry smile when she turned to face him incredulously. "Closet _Star Wars_ fan." He started as the coroner slammed the door of the van. "I should get back to the lab and transfer the old case."

"I'll start with the prints," Sara began, but Grissom cut her off.

"You should get some rest, Sara. We have to wait for the autopsy to come back, at any rate. It'll take Al a couple hours at least to process the body. Come on, I'll take you home."

Sara wanted to protest, but she knew that was right. She didn't want to risk him taking her off the case either, so she agreed reluctantly. "The lab is fine. My car's there, anyway."

If Grissom had been put off by her response, he didn't show it. "Let's go, then."

Arriving at her home thirty minutes later, Sara had to admit that getting some rest had been a good idea. It had been a miracle that she made it home safely, as it was all she could do to keep her eyelids from drooping as she drove home from the lab. Stumbling through the door, she yawned as she prepared for a quick shower.

The lure of sleep quickly dissipated as she stripped off her shirt. The slightly elevated scar across her left wrist stood out against the rest of her skin as she stared at it, a sick feeling in her stomach rising slowly. The memories would not stop flowing as she took her shower, and by the time she crawled into bed, she was wide awake with the dread of what she was certain she would relive if she fell asleep. Willing herself to keep awake, she picked a book up from her bedside table and began reading, waiting for the hours to pass.


	2. Chapter 2: Grissom

_Thanks for all the reviews! Keep them coming! I'm glad that everyone is getting caught up in the story, but as a sidenote, finals are coming up. So I might be busy for a bit, but I'm going to write as much as I can! And there's always English class..._

--

The job of supervisor would be a lot easier if he didn't have to deal with people.

That was the conclusion that Gil Grissom came to as he returned to his office. It had been a tricky piece of business convincing the day team to take the old case, as they already had two homicides on their hands. And then on the way back to his office he had run into Ecklie, who had told him, as usual, to get his ass moving and close a couple of cases.

All in all, Grissom much preferred bugs.

He had taken his own advice to Sara and had gotten a couple hours of sleep before returning to the lab. Having heard no word from Al on the body yet, he decided to do a background check on the victim, whom he had IDed from the wallet he had picked up at the crime scene.

Mackenzie Richards, he discovered soon enough, was a 20 year-old sophomore from the University of Pittsburgh. According to her boyfriend, who had reported her missing two days ago, the two of them had been in Vegas on spring break. Grissom was about to do a background check on the boyfriend when the door to his office opened with a resolute click, and Greg Sanders marched in.

"Hey Griss," he greeted happily, "You missed a great game of paintballing last night."

"I can see that," Grissom agreed, raising an eyebrow at a smidget of blue on the tip of Greg's ear. "Tell me, Greg, when was the last time you showered."

"Just before I came, "Greg responded suspiciously. "Why, do I smell?"

"Not more than you usually do," Grissom replied. "Anyway, I'm glad you checked in. We've got a new case on our hands. Came in last night. I'm going to need the entire team on this one."

"Is that why the day shift tried to kill me when I walked in?" Greg asked.

"Possibly one of many reasons," Grissom responded humorlessly. "A girl was murdered and possibly raped in the back of her car. Sara and I couldn't find anything on the preliminary search but we've got the car in the lab. I need you to go in there and really have a good look. Prints on the inside of the car will be tricky with the blood, but we'll need anything you can get."

"Sounds like fun." Giving a cocky salute, Greg left the office.

Turning back to his computer, Grissom had just called up the boyfriend's record when his pager sounded. Seeing that it was the coroner, he quickly locked his computer and started for the morgue.

He ran into Nick on his way out. "Hey boss," the Texan greeted in his usual outgoing way. "Heard about the new case. Anything you need?"

"Yeah. I've got Greg in the car looking for prints and anything else. It's a tough job, so go in there and give him a hand. The boyfriend who reported our vic missing has a criminal record, but I didn't have a good look at it. If you see Catherine, tell her to check it out and contact Brass if we need to call him in." He started to leave, then stopped. "And if you see Sara, send her over to the morgue."

Nick nodded. "I'm on it."

As he continued over to the morgue, Grissom wondered if it had been a good idea to tell Nick to send Sara. She hadn't looked well last night at the crime scene, and Grissom had partly suspected that the lack of evidence she had collected from the car was related to the obvious discomfort she had around Mackenzie's body. Of course, he hadn't said anything and he knew her well enough to know that she would be upset if he hadn't called her in for the autopsy report. Having been in this situation more than once, he had found through trial and error that the best course of action was to keep quiet and treat her as he would any other CSI, and that's what he always did. He just wished that he didn't see through her guise.

"Guess how she died," Doctor Albert Robbins called when Grissom opened the door.

Grissom walked over to the table. "Massive loss of blood?"

Robbins nodded. "Bingo. From the slits in her wrists. Surely that wasn't obvious."

"Time of death?"

"I couldn't get an exact time. It was a while ago… I'd say three nights, looking at her wounds."

"What about the type of knife?"

The doctor held up one of the wrists. "Ah, here's where it gets interesting." He pointed to the cut. "I noticed a sticky substance on the edge of the cut. Guess what it is."

Grissom watched the coroner. "What?"

"Orange juice."

"Orange juice?" Grissom frowned. "So you're saying there was orange juice on the knife blade."

"No, that's what' _you're_ saying. I'm just saying there was orange juice in the wound. Maybe the killer poured it into the wound for added agony. I don't know."

"After what I've seen some of these people do, that's not far off at all. Anything else?"

"Well, concerning rape, she certainly was." The coroner moved down her body. "The amount of bruising here is consistent of that on rape victims." He gestured to bruises all along the girl's naked body. "All this indicates a hard struggle. She wasn't easy to subdue."

Grissom nodded just as Sara entered. "Hey," he welcomed her as she approached the body. "Keep going," he told the doctor.

Robbins gave Sara nod before turning back to the girl. "I couldn't, however, get a sample of the semen."

"You can't get anything at all?" Sara cut in quickly. "Epithelials, even?"

"You can check if you want," Doc Robbins said. "But I'm guessing he used a condom."

"Our killer knew what he was doing," Grissom told Sara. "He wouldn't have left his DNA around like that. We're going to have to get it some other way he didn't consider."

Robbins cut in before Sara could speak. "Look at this." He handed Grissom a piece of paper, which Grissom moved so that Sara could see as well.

"She was pregnant?" Sara asked incredulously after a moment.

"The high levels of hormones in her blood tipped me off. I did a test, and she came back positive." Robbins gestured to the sheet. "She wasn't very far off, but of course it wouldn't be your killer's."

"Still a big piece of evidence," Grissom said. "We'll need the embryo's DNA." He nodded at Robbins. "Thanks for the info. I'll fill Sara in on the rest."

Sara usually bubbled with ideas after talking to the coroner, but she was uncharacteristically silent after Grissom told her everything she had missed. Seeing as she didn't want to talk, Grissom kept his thoughts to himself. The autopsy report was intriguing, but he decided to take one lead at a time and investigate the boyfriend first. Fortunately for him, Catherine was just stepping out of his office as he and Sara approached the room.

"Hey, there you are," Catherine said when she saw them. "I checked out the boyfriend, Sammy DuLilo. Turns out he had been charged with sexual harassment last year. He's still on a two-year probation. Brass has him waiting."

"Good." Grissom handed Catherine the autopsy report. "Here are the autopsy results. We're still waiting for DNA from the embryo." He headed off for the interrogation room, Sara behind him.

Dressed in a collared Polo shirt, Sammy DuLilo emanated smooth nonchalance as he watched the two CSIs sit down in front of him, next to Brass. His eyes lingered slightly on Sara, who returned the look with a hard, cold stare as she pulled the chair in from behind her.

"So," Brass started after a moment, "you wanna tell us about Mackenzie?'

Sammy shrugged. "I dunno. I'm the one who filed the missing persons report. I'm assuming you'd tell me."

Brass gave Grissom an annoyed look. "Look, Sammy, why don't you just cut the crap and tell us why Mackenzie was found dead with her wrists slit last night?"

Sammy stopped. "Dead?" he asked, the suaveness gone from his voice. "Mackenzie's dead?'

"Yah," Brass agreed. "Wanna talk now?'

"Look, if you're thinking I did it, I didn't!" Sammy had lost his cool attitude. "I didn't do anything!"

"I never said you did," Brass pointed out. "But now that you've reacted the way you did, I'm starting to wonder." He leaned in. "So you better start talking, kid."

Sammy opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Look," he said finally, "I didn't do it. Why would I call her in missing if I had killed her?"

Brass cocked his head. "To cover up your tracks? People'd get mighty suspicious if your girlfriend had been missing for two days and you did nothing about it."

Sammy shook his head. "That's all I can come up with. I didn't do it! You can't just accuse me like this!"

"We're not accusing anyone," Grissom assured him, jumping in before Brass could fire back. "We just want to find out who did this, and we were hoping you'd have some information." He gave Brass a look to silence him. The cop had done well to scare the kid into a more honest demeanor, but they weren't going to get anywhere the way they were going. "When was the last time you saw Mackenzie?"

"Three nights ago. We were at the Mirage when Mackenzie said she wanted to go back to the hotel. She said she wasn't feeling well. I was having a good night so I stayed behind. I haven't seen her since."

"Do you remember around what time she left?"

Sammy thought for a moment. "I don't remember exactly. It was a while before I got back. Around eight, I'd say."

"We found her in a parking lot of a convenience store," Grissom continued. "Any idea about that?"

Sammy shrugged. "I guess she wanted a snack or something. We didn't have much food in our room."

"So around what time did you get back?"

"Around midnight. She wasn't there, but I figured that she was at our friends' or something. I didn't check, but I talked with them in the morning and they said that they hadn't seen her all night. I tried calling her cell phone but no one picked up. That's when I called her in."

"You didn't check?" Brass raised his eyebrows. "Your girlfriend goes back to your hotel feeling sick and is gone when you arrive four hours later, and you didn't bother to check?"

Sammy glared at the detective. "I was tired, okay? I told you, I figured she was at our friends'."

"Sammy," Grissom cut in, "did you know that Mackenzie was pregnant?"

He knew that Sara was detailing Sammy's physical reactions, but it didn't take a professional to see Sammy's face fall. "Yeah," he said quietly.

"And you were charged with multiple accounts of harassment just a year ago and put on probation for two years," Brass pointed out. "Sounds like you got a little too close to her, accidentally got her pregnant, and she was angry. She was going to tell on you, and since you were on probation, you couldn't let her do that."

"No!" Sammy objected. "Look, that baby's not even mine. After the sexual harassment charges I realized that I had been dumb. I changed my ways. I hadn't even had sex with Mackenzie at all."

"So if it's not your baby, then whose is it?"

"Luke. Luke Nigers'. He's my best friend and Mackenzie wanted some action that I didn't want to give her, so she went to him one night while I was out." He stopped as he saw the reactions on his interrogators' faces. "No! It's not what you think! I didn't kill Mackenzie because she slept with Luke! We all talked it out, the three of us. She was going to get an abortion. We're cool. Luke even came with us to Vegas with his girlfriend."

Sara was making a note to no doubt check on Luke. "Maybe we take your DNA and fingerprints to rule you out as a suspect?" Grissom asked.

Sammy shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Why? I didn't do it."

"Yeah, well, we'll need your DNA and prints to confirm that," Grissom told him, swabbing the inside of Sammy's cheek. "That's all for now," he said, after getting the final print. "Thank you for the information, Sammy. We'll let you know if we need anything else, or if we have any leads." He paused. "And I'm very sorry for the loss of your girlfriend."

"Thanks," Sammy responded, looking away. Demeanor completely changed from what it was when he arrived, he left the interrogation room.

"I don't think it's him," Sara confessed as she and Grissom headed back to his office. "He seemed pretty upset."

"Me neither. The only motive he would possibly have would be his girlfriend getting pregnant with his best friend, in which case if he was mad enough to kill, he would kill the best friend, of all people."

Sara snickered. "You sound like the voice of experience there, Griss."

"I'm serious."

"But according to Sammy, Mackenzie was coming onto Luke. She was the one initiating the relationship."

"He went along with it. I really think that if he had wanted to kill someone, he would have chosen Luke. He wouldn't have killed Mackenzie without killing Luke first."

"Well, there's only one way to find out." Sara waved her notes. "I'm on Luke." With that, she headed off towards her computer.

Having reached his office, Grissom sat down and unlocked his computer. He would have to prepare a statement for Mackenzie's parents, as they no doubt would want to know everything. He wondered if they even knew that their daughter had been pregnant. And he was still concerned for Sara. She had regained some of her old sarcastic self after the interrogation, but he still wasn't entirely convinced that it had been a good decision putting her on the case. He knew how affected she was by cases such as this one, and he only needed a glance to know that she hadn't gotten more than an hour of sleep before she had returned to the lab.

For the second time that night, Grissom decided that life would be much easier if he didn't have to deal with people.


	3. Chapter 3: Sara

_Sorry it had taken so long for this chapter to come out! I promise things will go quicker… enjoy!_

_(Also, I swear, Sara and Grissom will have it going on by the end. I promise. Sorry to keep you guys waiting, for those who are.)_

--

Leaving Grissom's office, Sara walked down the hall to the computer. She considered going down to see how Nick and Greg were doing on the car, but really had no desire to see the bloody interior of the Toyota again. She would be better off investigating Luke Nigers.

She reflected on the conversation that she and Grissom had just had. She had told Grissom that she didn't believe Sammy was the killer only to gauge his opinion, and in truth, she really didn't know what she thought. Half of her desperately wanted it to be Sammy, for this murder just to be another relationship gone wrong. But she knew that Grissom's reasoning was perfectly logical, as it always was. The killer couldn't be Sammy, at least not according to what they knew so far.

_They put him away,_ she assured herself as she entered the room, the sick feeling coming back again. _You were there. You watched the trial. You saw the whole thing happen. They put him away. They caught him, and they put him away_. _The similar circumstances are only a mere coincidence._ _It's not Sammy, but it's not him either._

Archie looked up from the computer as Sara walked in, looking a little too guilty for his own good. "Hey, Sara," he said nonchalantly while trying (and failing miserably) to subtly minimize the window he was on. "What's up?"

"Nothing much." Sara leaned down over the lab tech to get to the mouse. "New case, in case you haven't heard, so you can stop reviewing those toy store surveillance camera tapes."

"Oh darn," Archie replied listlessly. "And I was making such progress on those tapes… Eight hours a day for a week, and I haven't noticed a damn thing."

"Which totally explains why you weren't trying your ass off to find something," Sara responded, opening the window to see what certainly was not surveillance camera footage. "CS? Where did the 'I' go?"

Archie's expression went from a little kid's with his hand caught in a cookie jar to outright incredulity. "Don't tell me you don't know what CS is!"

"I've got bad news. I don't know what CS is."

"Counterstrike!" Archie was clearly worked up. "Only one of the best games ever made. I can't believe you don't know about it. You've been hanging around Grissom too much."

_If only that were funny_. "And you're looking this up on the Internet because…?"

"Well, Greg and I have been playing each other, and I swear that he's been invoking some cheat code that I don't know about, so I'm trying to find a cheat to beat it. I'd totally own his ass if it wasn't for that cheat."

Sara wasn't surprised. Greg tended to make up for his shortcomings through less scrupulous means. "Well, I'll tell you what, Archie. Give me the computer, and I won't tell Greg."

Archie backed away, gesturing at the computer. "All yours." He started for the door, then turned around. "Did Griss have anything for me to do on the new case?"

"Dunno," Sara responded absently, typing Luke's name into the database search query. "Go ask him. He's in his office."

Luke, unlike Sammy, did not have a criminal record, though Sara did find that he had spent a year between high school and college in an institution for anger management problems and a tendency towards violence. He seemed to have overcome his problems, having been released from the institution, but Sara knew how it easy it was to relapse. She had just made a note to Brass to call Luke in and was trying to dig further into Luke's psychological condition when the Nick walked in.

"Hey, Sara," Nick said, walking over to the computer. "How did the autopsy go?"

"Well, you probably guessed that she died from loss of blood. Doc Robbins said that she was raped but couldn't get a sample of the semen, but that's really no surprise either. And this is where it gets interesting. Apparently there was orange juice found on the edges of the slits in her wrists."

Nick frowned. "So there was orange juice on the knife?"

"That's what Grissom thinks. But listen, there's more. She's also pregnant, with, according to Sammy DuLilo, the boyfriend who called her in missing, this person's child." She gestured to the Luke on the computer screen. "Luke Nigers. Sammy's best friend."

"Whooo." Nick raised his eyebrows. "Juicy. This sounds like a bad soap opera."

"A little bit," Sara agreed. "Find anything else in the car?"

"Lots and lots of blood. Greg is taking some samples to test against the vic's DNA just in case there is someone else's blood mixed in, but the splatter seems pretty indicative of someone bleeding out while trying to get out of the cars." He grimaced. "There were a couple prints in the blood near the interior car door handles. Rick ran them, and both they and the prints you collected on the exterior of the car door match the victim's."

Sara let out a breath. "So we really don't have much, do we?"

"Well, we do have this." Nick held up a small envelope. "We found a red fiber on the car seat. It doesn't match any other fibers in the car, so it's probably a transfer from an outside source. There were some more blonde hairs on the passenger seat. Probably from the vic again, but we sent it in for analysis all the same."

Sara felt a small pinch of self-resentment. She had been mildly annoyed when she heard that Grissom had sent Greg and Nick down to the car to recheck her work, but she knew that he was justified. She really hadn't done a good job last night. "I'm sorry about that," she apologized. "I just… I was really tired last night. I didn't really—"

"No, it's okay," Nick cut in gently. "I know." He smiled. "You'd be the last one to be accused of slacking off, Sara."

Sara shrugged. "I still should have—"

"Seriously, don't worried about it." Nick's face turned serious. "You okay, though? We really missed you last night."

"I'm fine. I just… you know, was tired."

"Ergo, you came to work instead. Only you, Sara Sidle." Nick grinned as Sara opened her mouth to defend herself. "Nah, it's cool. No offense taken. You just missed some good times."

Sara smiled. "I'll be there next time, I promise."

"Ah, we'll be sure to make it soon." Nick snickered. "Greg's talking of retribution against Catherine's kicking his ass anyway."

"Excuse me," Greg interjected, walking in. "For the record, Sara, Catherine _did not_ kick my ass. It was a freak shot."

"That hit you square in the face," Nick added.

"A little bit."

"Mmhm," Sara agreed, unconvinced. She eyed a small dab of blue on Greg's ear. "Must have been quite a little shot."

"So, Greggo," Nick said after a small silence, "What's up? Any news on the blood?"

Greg gave Nick an annoyed look. "Clearly, Nick, you have never worked in a lab. On the behalf of all my fellow misunderstood lab technicians, DNA results _do not_ come back this quickly. It is a long, arduous, and underappreciated process."

"But I thought you said you could do anything."

"Hey." Greg held up a hand. "I know that I'm exceedingly smart and unimaginably attractive, but a guy can't be everything."

"All right, both of you," Sara sighed, exasperated, "cut it out. Go take your ego contest somewhere else. I've got work to do."

Nick and Greg seemed to take the "ego contest" bit to heart and left her, still chattering heatedly as they walked out of the room. Shaking her head, Sara went back to her computer.

She knew that there was no way she would be able to get any of Luke's personal medical record with just a curious suspicion. She would just have to pay close attention while talking to him.

She accessed the mental clinic's webpage while waiting for word from Brass. As far as she could tell from the site's limited info, the clinic had a no-drug policy and relied exclusively on psychological coaching and remediation to help its patients. All patients were guaranteed a full year during which they were deemed "stable" by clinic psychologists before being released, after which the patient was required to visit a psychologist every month so his or her progress could be monitored.

Sara found all of this slightly questionable and decided to give the clinic a call. After looping through an obscure series of commands on the phone, a woman finally picked up.

"Hi," Sara quickly said, "I would like some information."

"Mmhm…" the woman sounded pleasant enough. "What would you like to know?"

"What is the success rate at your clinic?"

"What do you define as success? All the patients that enter our clinic leave. Some just take longer than others."

Sara rolled her eyes. Some people could make anything sound good. "I meant, how many people are actually 'cured,' for lack of a better word?"

"Well, certainly everyone is deemed stable before he or she is released."

"What do you define as 'stable?'"

If Sara's questions were getting to the woman, she certainly didn't show it. "The specifics are for our highly-acclaimed and qualified psychologists to decide, but I can assure you that certainly no one who may be a harm to either him or herself or to society will be released."

"Any chance of a relapse?"

"Oh, very little, ma'am. Our methods ensure that we solve the problem at its root. We have a no-drug policy here—all of our patients undergo intensive counseling so that we change the actual mindset of the patient instead of covering it up at the surface."

It sounded like that Tom Cruise interview on the Today Show. "But it's been proven that depression is a chemical imbalance," Sara pointed out. "Counseling wouldn't correct that."

"Nothing has been proven, miss. The ones who champion medicine create a problem that needs medicine. Here at Walnut Hill, we believe that everything can be solved through counseling."

The woman's sickly sweet tone had been annoying Sara, so she took Brass' page as her cue to leave. "Thank you very much," she told the woman quickly.

The woman wasn't ready to let go yet. "Are you considering Walnut Hill for a loved one?"

If Sara had been, she certainly wouldn't now. "Maybe," she replied unpromisingly. "I want to look around first." Before the woman could say anything else, she hung up quickly, leaving to meet Brass at the police station.

Luke Nigers, unlike his best friend, had a much more somber attitude—timid, even. He was fidgeting with his watch when Sara sat down with Brass.

"I didn't do anything," he said quickly once they were all sitting. "I swear, I didn't do anything. I was with a bunch of friends, I swear. You can ask them. Like that alibi stuff, whatever. I didn't do anything."

"Whoa whoa whoa, chill out for a second, all right?" Brass asked in his brusque cop manner. "We just wanna ask some questions about Mackenzie, get some background about how the night went. If you didn't do anything, this'll be a piece of cake. What did you do last night?"

"Uh, I watched soccer on TV at the hotel. I mean, Sammy and Mackenzie and others wanted to go out, but I'm a big Manchester United fan so I stayed home to watch the game." He looked at Sara. "You can check it. It was on last night at 7:00. They were playing Arsenal."

"Yeah, we'll do that," Brass agreed as Sara quickly jotted down some notes. "So you were watching soccer… then?"

Luke shrugged. "After the game was over—it was around 9:30, give or take a few, I went down to our friends' room. Just hung out, played some cards."

"Was Mackenzie there?" Sara asked.

Luke frowned. "No. She and Sammy were down at the casino. The Mirage, I think. I'm not really a big gambling guy, and the rest of them were all flat-out broke, so only Mackenzie and Sammy went. Well, Mackenzie went just because Sammy did. He'd been having good nights, scoring some. She didn't really care for gambling either, but…" he shrugged. "They're going out."

"So that makes the last time you saw Mackenzie… when?"

Luke thought for a moment. "We all went out for dinner before we split up to do stuff, around six. Down in the hotel. I paid." He dug in his pocket, then slid a piece of paper over to Sara. "Here's the receipt."

"I see that you've had some anger management problems. How's that been going?"

Luke shook his head. "Man, I can't believe you know about that." He looked up at Sara. "Listen, I was hospitalized for this time at a hockey game back in high school, when I almost killed a kid by running over him in my skates. The blade nicked some sort of artery or something – I don't know. Hockey's a violent game, but I guess I had some issues. It never was a problem like that though. I mean, I'm cool now. I don't get angry anymore."

"What about your psychologist meetings? Having those?"

"Listen, I told you. There's no problem anymore. Any sort of arguments with my friends, I talk it out."

"So you talked it out with Sammy when you got Mackenzie pregnant."

Luke looked back down at the table. "That was a mistake," he said quietly. "I mean, she came onto me, but she's kinda hot, so I went along with it. But yeah, we talked it out. Mackenzie is—was, getting an abortion. We all agreed on that."

"So you and Sammy are cool."

"Yeah. We're cool. I was the first person he called when he found out… when you guys told him that she was dead." He paused, then reached into his pocket again. He looked down at what was in his hand, then looked up again. "Listen, my girlfriend just texted me. She wants to know what's going. Are we done here? Because I really have nothing else to say, and we'd all just like to… be together for this. Be there for Sam, you know?"

"Yeah, we're almost done." Sara produced a Q-tip. "Could we just take your DNA and fingerprints, for investigative purposes and to possibly rule you out as a suspect?"

Luke nodded. "Sure. I'd be happy to give anything."

"And could we have the name of your girlfriend and the rest of your friends, in case we need to contact them?"

Luke thought for a moment. "Sure, I guess. I was with them though. My friends, I mean. I was with them all night. Except for Rachel, my girlfriend. She was out doing stuff, running errands. I can give you her info if you give me something to write on."

Having collected the information and DNA she needed, Sara went back to the lab. She dropped off Luke's DNA at the DNA lab with Mia to confirm that the fetus' DNA did match with Luke's and was on her way back to the computer when she passed by the break room.

"Hey Sara!" Nick called, "how did the questioning go?"

She stepped in to see Nick, Grissom, and Greg gathered around the table. "Good, but nothing spectacular. I checked up on mental institution – Walnut Hill – that Luke had gone to? It's a load of crap, but Luke seems like he's a pretty chill guy. He hung out with his friends all night last night—didn't see the vic after dinner around six. Claims to have watched a soccer game on TV. I was about to confirm that there was a match."

Greg sat up. "Who? Manchester United vs. Arsenal?"

Sara raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, that would be the one."

Greg snapped. "Damn, heard it was a good match. I had wanted to watch that, but oh, the cons of graveyard shift."

"Or paintballing," Grissom pointed out, annoyed. He looked up at Sara. "Sammy mentioned that Luke had a girlfriend."

"Yeah, I got her info."

Grissom continued watching her. "Well, if your boyfriend was sleeping around, how would you feel?"

Sara tried to ignore Greg's snicker in the background. "Pretty damn angry."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Let's get on it, then."


	4. Chapter 4: Grissom

_I'm back! I figured since people seemed to be reading this story again (and liking it!), I might as well go through with it. Please keep reading and reviewing, because you keep me writing! I apologize for the delay. Er, even if it's close to a year._

--

_What was the point of a cell phone if one didn't pick it up?_

Grissom could feel a slight annoyance rising in him as he waited for Brass, who was calling Luke's girlfriend, Rachel Jackson, again. Beside him, Sara shifted her weight, and he could tell that she was getting impatient as well.

"Still no response." Brass hung up. "Well, I certainly can't send out a team to look for her – she would have to come in voluntarily – so I guess you guys gotta wait."

"Try again," Sara insisted. "According to Luke, she just texted him not more than ten minutes ago."

Brass cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, that's plenty of time to wipe the blood off the cell phone, ditch it, and then run away." He saw Sara's expression. "And no, I can't get a warrant for her for making stuff up."

"Look," Grissom cut in. Brass was an excellent detective, but his sarcasm got out of hand sometimes. "This isn't helping. Just keep trying. Sara, we've got better things to do. Back to the lab."

Sara gave Brass one more smoldering glance before following Grissom out of the office. "She was just using her phone!" she said. "She texted him during interrogation."

"He could have lied, or she could purposely not be answering," Grissom replied. "Both actions are slightly suspicious but nothing that we can do." He paused. "Let's go over what we have as of now. Vic was found dead approximately three nights ago. Boyfriend was still at the casino—I had Archie check the surveillance tapes, and he's in the process of confirming that Sammy was there all night. Luke Nigers has a valid alibi—the soccer game, and Warrick checked with the friends and reported that they had been playing cards all night, and Luke joined them around 9:30, which is about right if we assume that Luke watched the entire game."

"So then—" Sara cut in, but Grissom held up a hand. She was being uncharacteristically impatient, even more so than usual on cases like these.

"Wait," he said. "Warrick also reported that Rachel Jackson is unaccounted for. According to a certain Jackie Harlan, Rachel went out to explore the city of Las Vegas last night."

"… So we need to get this girl in even more," Sara pointed out.

Grissom paused for a moment. "Okay, so we do. But," he quickly added, "physical evidence. We've got a bloodied car, containing fingerprints from the victim in the blood around the door handles and on the door handles themselves. We have a lock of blond hair from outside the car, on the pavement, and a blond hair inside."

"And," Sara continued when he stopped, "we have a fiber that Nick found that he says is an outside transfer."

There was a small silence. Grissom closed his eyes, thinking, trying to imagine the motives of each character involved. Sammy was an obvious choice – girlfriend was with his best friend on the side – but neither he nor Sara believed that it was him. Oftentimes, Grissom had come to learn, the killer was the least obvious one. For all he knew, it could have been one of the other friends that were also in town. Sammy and Mackenzie were both well off, and who knew what could happen with college students when a small burst of jealousy erupted…

"Hey." Warrick's voice intruded upon his thoughts, and Grissom opened his eyes. "Just got Doc's report back on the embryo – it's confirmed to be Luke's." He glanced back and forth between Grissom and Sara. "Come up with anything?"

"Nothing yet," Grissom admitted. "Brass is trying Luke's girlfriend Rachel, but she isn't picking up."

"Did Nick get anything from that fiber?" Sara asked as Warrick seated himself.

"Actually, Nick did," Nick answered himself, standing in the doorway. "The fiber, it turns out, is not from a car, but from a chair."

"So it could be from any of the casinos," Sara quickly said. "Sammy, right? Luke said that he and Mackenzie were the only ones who went out that night."

"Actually—" Nick started.

"Well, you don't know if it has to be from that night," Warrick answered. "I mean, you're a bunch of college kids in town from far away; it's your last couple of nights down in Vegas; who has time for dirty laundry when you could be out grabbing the time of your life?"

"Guys—" Nick tried.

"That's gross, Warrick. Who would do that? Surely they would have packed enough clothes."

"Listen, I think—" Nick said a bit louder, to no avail.

"Yeah, they might have, but I'm just saying, having fun beats personal hygiene anyday."

"I THINK YOU'LL WANT TO HEAR THIS!" Nick almost yelled, scaring a passing lab tech into pausing before quickly scurrying away. "The fiber I got isn't from a casino. In fact, it's not from anything that could be considered modern." He held up the plastic bag. "Dyed horse hair."

There was a small silence.

"Horse hair," Sara repeated.

"Itchy on the butt," Warrick muttered.

Nick shrugged. "I dunno why you would ever want a chair made of red dyed horse hair, but that's all I'm saying. I'm sure. I cross-checked everything."

"Well, that's good news," Grissom, who had been listening quietly this entire time, said. "I mean, how many people in Vegas own chairs with horse hairs?"

"More than you guess, I bet," Warrick replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had one in your office, Griss."

"I'm hurt, Warrick," Grissom replied emotionlessly. "Nick, I'm sure you know what to do with this."

"Aye aye, Cap'n." Nick turned to leave. "Just figured I'd give everyone a head's up, 'cause this case just got a hell of a lot more interesting."

"Horse hair," Warrick was still musing as Nick left, "I mean, how uncomfortable can you get?"

"Maybe you can ask the owner if you can try it out when we visit him," Grissom responded dryly. "So. Horse hair. What do you think? Antique, or a whim?"

"Well, there's only one way to find out," Warrick groaned, standing up. "I'm gonna pay the antique shop a visit, see if I can find anything." He left, still muttering to himself about the absurdity of horse hair.

"Well, at least this is getting somewhere," Grissom said, leaning back in his chair. He studied Sara's face. There was still something amiss. "Sara, you okay?" She always got emotional around these cases, but she usually wasn't like this. Perhaps it was just something in the way she walked, the way she talked, the way she conducted herself. He couldn't put a hand on it, but it concerned him. _She won't answer me honestly, _he knew the moment he asked the question. _How do I make her answer me honestly? She'll always just say what she thinks what I want to hear so I don't take her off. She doesn't know I don't give a damn about this case in comparison to her. She doesn't know that I just want her to be happy, to see her smile… _but she would never know if he didn't tell her, and it wasn't like he was going to break his record now, after so many years.

"Hmm?" She had been staring at the table, and looked up abruptly. "Yeah, yeah, of course I'm okay." She gave him a small smile. "Why, are you?"

Her question took him by surprise. "Well… yeah," he said. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She cocked her head. "Why wouldn't _I _be?"

He knew he wasn't going to get anywhere. "All right, all right," he conceded. There was a small, awkward silence in which her gaze drove him to finally flick his eyes quickly to the opposite wall as nonchalantly as he could.

"So," Sara cleared her throat, looking back down at the folder in front of them, "we were getting places."

"Yeah." Grissom leaned in to get a better look of the folder, taking care not to get too close to Sara. "Well, the lock of hair found on the pavement belongs to Mackenzie; the strand on the inside belongs to an unidentified female source. The lock was probably lost due to struggle – which means that Mackenzie struggled even before she reached the car."

"Probably likewise for the hair inside," Sara added. "Lost in the struggle. Except it's not Mackenzie's. So, our attacker is whomever that strand of blonde hair belongs to!"

Grissom frowned. To assume that was too rash – they were jumping to conclusions. Still, he knew better to argue with Sara over theories. _Better to prove with evidence._ "Okay, maybe…" he said slowly, entertaining her idea, edging her on. "But at this point, we don't have a source for that hair."

"Yes," Sara agreed impatiently, "but that hair was long, right? It probably belongs to one of the friends that they had been hanging out with. My bet is on Rachel Jackson – I mean, her boyfriend _impregnated_ this girl…"

"They said that they had all worked this out," Grissom said, trying to make Sara see reason. It wasn't like her to do this; did she realize exactly how many assumptions she was making?

"The _boys_ said that they had all worked it out. There was no mention of Rachel." Sara was getting excited. "Griss, we need to find this girl now!"

"Hm, you may be in luck," Grissom said, feeling a small buzz in his pocket. He took out his phone and flipped it open. "Brass," he reported upon reading the message. "He's got Rachel coming down to the station."

Sara raised an eyebrow. "Excellent." Gathering the contents of the folder, she quickly stood up.

Again, Grissom wondered if he really wanted her on this case. _Not that you have much of a choice, at this point_. _Well, if anything, he wanted to be there, with her, for her, even if she didn't know. _"All right," he finally sighed. "Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5: Sara

_Myralee, you are my hero. In my own defense (well, really, more of an explanation – you know, a self-preservation type thing), I got caught up for the last year in the throes of college applications and 24. But really, we all know that Gil Grissom owns Jack Bauer + Ivy Leagues any day._

_Great, now Jack Bauer's going to kill me. Along with all of Harvard. And probably Yale._

_I also apologize in advance for the angst. If you delve deeper into my psychology, you will only see that it is a physical manifestation of my innermost desire to marry Nick Stokes. Oh well._

--

Sara could tell that Grissom had reservations about her involvement with the case, but she wasn't going to let him stop her. _He doesn't know what I'm going through_, she told herself. Of course, that wasn't his fault considering she never told him, but what would be the point of that? She knew exactly how he would react. Exactly. Resolved, she marched on down to the station, with Grissom in tow.

"Hey," Brass greeted them when they arrived. "In that room, there." He nodded towards a closed door. "Lemme warn you though, let's just say she's, mm, sassy."

"And when has that been a problem?" Sara heard Grissom reply back. She didn't bother wasting breath on her own, and opened the door to see a blond girl looking back at them.

Her heart skipped a beat. She eyed the length of the girl's hair – perfect to match the strand they found in the car! She could sense Grissom pause behind her as he walked in, no doubt upon seeing Rachel's hair. _Well, let him do what he wants to._ Purposefully, she stepped towards the girl and sat down on the other side of the table. Grissom followed suit. The girl eyed them ruefully.

"Look," she said once Sara sat down, "I dunno why you're here. Luke told you everything."

"Yeah, we'll be the judges of that," Sara answered roughly. She could hear Grissom shift his weight next to her. "So, I hear you went out into Vegas three nights ago."

The other girl rolled her eyes. "Yeah, so what."

"So what – your friend was murdered that night!" Sara said angrily. "And _your_ hair was found in her car!"

Rachel's eyes flashed. "What? So?"

"Let's start over," Grissom said calmly, giving Sara a silencing look. She took it, smoldering. "You weren't playing cards with your friends back at the hotel, correct?"

"Yes. I told you that. I went out to go explore the city a little bit. We hadn't hit all the sites, and I wanted to see them for myself before we left."

"Well, where did you go?"

Rachel looked at him, annoyed. "Everywhere."

Grissom sighed. "Rachel, we just need your help. Your friend was murdered. We're trying to find out who did it."

The girl gave Sara an angry look. "Yeah, well you seem to be accusing me of doing it!"

"Well, it seems like you did, doesn't it?" Sara jumped in, angry. She couldn't let this girl out of her hands. She was the one who killed Mackenzie. A sad story and she knew the jury was bought. They had to get a confession out of her.

"I didn't do anything," the girl replied calmly, emphasizing each word. She turned to Grissom. "Tell her that."

Grissom shot her a sideways glance. "She knows." The look was almost daring her say otherwise. "Regardless… we heard about Mackenzie and Luke. How are you taking that?"

Rachel shrugged. "Well. It wasn't enough to break me and Luke apart. We both made some mistakes. I mean, there were rifts in our relationship too – that's probably why he said yes to her."

"So you're on good terms."

The girl gave Grissom a rather annoyed look. "If you think I would want to murder my friend over that, you're wrong. I'm not like that, okay? Shit happens. I deal."

Sara couldn't tell what Grissom was thinking, but she had had enough. "I'm um, going to go check on how the others are doing," she told him. He looked at her for a second. She could tell that he was trying to figure her out, even trying to size her up. Finally, he nodded. "Okay. I'll see you back at the lab."

She left the station, mind whirling as she walked. She could feel anger bubble up inside of her – which was silly, since she had no reason to be angry. But she knew inside that, no matter how hard she tried to deny it, that Rachel wasn't the killer. There were signature moves involved with Mackenzie's death, and as her mind rolled over this, she could feel the scars on her wrist tingle.

_Well, it's not like slitting someone's wrist is incredibly original_, she tried telling herself. Yet either she wasn't convincing enough, or she never believed it in the first place.

She found Catherine, Greg, and Nick around a conference table. "Hey Sara," Catherine greeted her as she walked in, "I thought you were with Grissom interrogating Rachel."

"Yeah, well, he's got that covered," Sara responded curtly as she sat down at the table.

"Mm." Catherine nodded. "Well, ya learn anything while you were down there?"

"No," Sara responded. "What are you guys up to here?"

"Just reviewing case facts," Greg said. He looked at the rest of them. "I still think it's Rachel."

"Nuh uh," Nick responded. "You don't have enough evidence for that."

"Just a hunch is all I'm saying," Greg insisted. "Once we get a hair match to that blond strand –"

"Yeah well you can't assume," Nick argued back. "I mean, this was the car that they rented for their entire stay in Vegas. Obvious Rachel drove the car around as much as anyone else did."

"Yeah, but that was on the front seat right there. If it was just leftover from past uses it would have blown away or gotten tracked somewhere else or something—"

"Not necessarily."

Sara tried to block the argument out as she leaned back in her chair. She was already having this debate internally, and it did not help things to have Nick and Greg heatedly vocalize her thoughts. She could feel a headache coming on. She should have at least tried to sleep last night… Hearing Nick and Greg still going at it, she unconsciously raised a hand up to rub her temples.

She didn't realize that the conversation had stopped until a couple seconds into the silence. Looking up, Sara saw all three of her coworkers looking at her with mixed expressions. Upon noticing that she was watching them, Nick and Catherine quickly dropped their heads, but Greg kept staring. "Hey, what happened to your wrist there?' he finally asked.

It took Sara a moment to realize that her sleeve had slipped down, exposing her wrist, and what was on it. She quickly pulled it back up. "Nothing," she said, trying to sound as casual as she could. "I uh, got it when I was ice-skating. When I was a kid. I slipped and a blade ran over my wrist."

"Ice-skating?" Greg sounded horribly dubious. "I didn't know you ice-skated."

Sara glared at him. "There's a reason I stopped."

There was a silence. "Sara," Catherine began slowly after a moment, "listen, more than anything, we're your friends –"

Sara felt anger flare up instantaneously. "Yes, great, that's good to know. I don't see how that's relevant to anything that's going on. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to the case on hand –"

"Sara, we're just here for you—"

"Then stop asking me all these questions!" Sara stood up, almost blinded by emotion. "I don't know what's wrong with you people. It's like… you don't know when to stop, do you? Not everyone has the luxury of fathers who write them checks every couple of months, Catherine. And you, Greg, growing up in a bubble…you don't know anything." She paused, trying to catch her breath, feeling the tears well up. "You know what, I'm done with this. I can't stand you guys. I'm leaving." She roughly pushed her chair back, and turned to head out of the room.

"Sara," Nick started, and she heard him get up too. She whipped around on him. "_Don't_ you start too," she warned. "Not you." She had always been close with Nick – even though of him as a brother. He had always been there for her, and today, she didn't need him pestering at her back with the rest of the others.

He paused. Taking advantage of his hesitation, she stalked out of the room, straight down the hall, and out the exit. She didn't even stop when she reached the car, and instead, just put the key in the ignition, the foot on the pedal, and backed out. She was hardly aware that she was driving – her body was on autopilot; her brain was lost in her memories. She could remember that day clearly as she drove: she was just walking back from her evening class when he sprung out from behind a building, the way he threw her in a car and violated her, the way he slit her wrists and left her to die. It was only because someone had heard her muffled, desperate pounding on the car window she was alive today.

Dazed, she parked her car and got out, and it was only when she reached the door did she realize where she had driven herself. _Well, old habits die hard_. She swung open the door and entered the bar.

She was on her third beer when he entered. "Hey Sara," she heard the soft voice of Nick as his figure sat down next to her. "I thought I might find you here."

"Well then, I guess you aren't a CSI for nothing," Sara replied sarcastically. She downed the last gulp. "Another," she called.

"No," Nick said firmly, reaching out and stopping the bartender. "Come on Sara, let's go." He dug into his wallet and threw out a couple of bills. "I'll take you home. We can pick up your car later."

For some reason she couldn't define, Sara didn't argue, but quietly let Nick lead her back to his car, and climbed obediently into the front seat. Nick made no attempt to talk on the way home, driving quietly. She knew him well enough to know that he was in contemplation. _Probably about how to deal with me._ She felt like a baby, considering the way she was making him treat her, and for that she felt ashamed. _He doesn't know what I've been through_, she thought, trying to make herself feel better.

Nick still said nothing as they pulled into the parking lot of her apartment, and only quietly offered his help walking her to the elevator. When she finally got the door open, he followed her into her living room, then sat down silently on the couch.

"Well," she finally said after a small pause, "I'm home safe. Why are you still here?" The question was blunt, but with her mind in this state, she couldn't think of any way else to phrase it.

"Just to be here." He shrugged. "Sometimes that's all it takes."

"And the others? Grissom? Won't he be wondering where you are?"

"They'll be fine. You need me more than they do."

His presumption caught her by surprise. Another bout of anger and sarcasm started to rise, but something about his demeanor caught her rage. _He's not being presumptuous_, she realized. _He's just better at seeing the truth than I am._

All the rage she had suddenly melted into grief, and she sank onto the couch, sobbing. She could feel Nick put his arm around her, and for a moment, they just sat like that, him quietly listening to her crying her heart out.

"I had no idea what was happening to me until it was too late," Sara heard herself spill when the first wave of sobs subsided. "I was already in the car, and he was already…" she trailed off as Nick's arm tightened around her. "I had no idea."

"You were the Boston case, weren't you?" Nick asked quietly after a moment. "A young Harvard undergrad was raped and left for dead with her wrists slit in the backseat of her car. That was you."

She sniffed, reaching for the box of tissues on the table beside them. "You didn't need to hear me say it to know that."

"Well, I guess I didn't want to know," he replied. "It hurts us too, Sara. Sometimes, it's worse watching the ones you love suffer. I guess I'd been trying to deny it." He looked at her. "You haven't told Grissom."

Sara scoffed. "You know how he'll react. He'll take me off the case. Well, with a lecture. Something perfectly… Grissom-ish." She could hear him now, even see his exact expression.

"Regardless," Nick persuaded softly, "he'll need to know. You know, you could be charged with withholding evidence if it really comes down to it." He paused. "And if it really is the same guy, you're not safe alone in this apartment."

She shook her head. "I can't." _Worse than his immediate reaction, what will he think of me?_

"Look Sara, I don't want to do this, but I'll have to tell Grissom if you don't." Again, he turned so that he was looking straight into her eyes. "And, between the two of us, well, I'd say it was better coming from you."

She knew he was right. Nodding, she looked back down at her hands, then at her wrists, where she knew perfectly well what was underneath those sleeves. She felt the tears come on again, and suddenly, she was engulfed in a huge hug from Nick.

"Hey, hey, it's gonna be okay. Everything's going to work out fine. I promise." He pulled apart so she could see his face, and she realized that his eyes were watering too. "Everything's going to work out fine, Sara. Everything is going to work out fine."

Nodding, she felt the tears crash down her cheeks again, splashing onto his t-shirt. He pulled her in again and this time she responded, wrapping her arms around his back, letting her head rest in the crook of his neck. He said nothing, but his presence was enough, and he made no effort to break away.

They stayed like that. They stayed like that for a long while.


	6. Chapter 6: Grissom

_So, here's the chapter you've all been waiting for! (Er, I hope. I'm assuming the GSR tagline is what caught your attention… if not, I apologize. No, I don't. What are you thinking? You should be a GSR fan.)_

_Keep them reviews coming! Please?_

_­_--

Grissom sat in his office, thinking.

He usually felt alive when solving cases – he enjoyed the puzzles, the twists and turns, the missing pieces and the ones that didn't fit. But this one was different. He just felt tired.

He took off his glasses, rubbing his sore temples. He had gotten a sample of Rachel's DNA after Sara left, and he had dropped that off with the lab before returning to his office. It was going to be another couple of hours before the results came back, but Rachel had admitted that she could very well have been a match. She was a smart girl, quick to understand what the implications meant, but also quick to point out several good reasons as to why her hair could be on that seat.

Either way, Grissom was very nearly convinced that Rachel was not the killer. There was something more perverse about this murder, something more than any old crime of rage due to jealousy. The way the body was positioned, the circumstances, and the rape –it was all about power, not revenge.

Upon returning to the lab, he had tried to find Sara, to try to talk some reason into her, and more than anything, see if she was all right, but she was nowhere to be found. The rest of the team was less than helpful. Greg only looked slightly abashed when Grissom asked, and Catherine had hastily tried to change the subject. Nick had gone missing as well, and Grissom could only hope that, wherever he was, he was with Sara.

He picked up the case files again. Warrick, it seemed, was still checking out the horse hair lead, which Grissom was starting to wonder was a lead at all. Nothing in this case seemed to fit. He knew he was missing something, something that seemed so close… and Sara. No matter how hard he tried to just focus on the case, his mind kept drifting back to her.

_I have to talk to her_, he resolved. _Nothing is going to get done if I don't, and I'll end up worrying myself to hell. _He wasn't going to wait for her to show up. He stood up, pushing in his chair determinedly. He had to deal with this now. He had to find her.

"Hey boss?"

Nick was at his office door. Grissom frowned. "Nick, where have you been for the last two hours? I was looking everywhere for you!"

Nick grimaced. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I… listen, could you go over to Sara's?" His voice trembled a little. "I know it's weird, but please, just do it."

Grissom looked at the CSI. Nick was clearly troubled by something. "Sara. Is she all right? Were you with her?"

"Yeah. She's fine but… please just go. Please, Griss."

"Well what about the lab?" Grissom asked. "What about this case?"

The younger man took a deep breath. "It's about the case."

Nick clearly knew something that Grissom didn't know. He felt a slight pang of… what was it? Jealousy? Was he jealous that Sara chose to confide in Nick instead of himself? He had to admit it wasn't something he felt everyday, and it confused him a bit. It was not the best of times to expand his emotional horizons. "Well, what is it?" he asked with a touch of annoyance.

Nick shook his head stubbornly. "It's not my place to tell. I'll keep the lab running. Don't worry, Griss. Or – or I'll tell Catherine, if you don't trust me. Just… please."

Grissom paused. He had always look highly upon Nick Stokes and had considered him to be a likely successor – though the young CSI always seemed to underestimate Grissom's confidence in his abilities. Perhaps this would be a good chance to see what Nick was capable of. And there was Sara… something in Nick's voice told Grissom that this was no joke. "No, I trust you, Nick," he said. "I'm putting you in charge. Warrick is still pursuing the horse hair, but he should be back soon. I dropped a sample of Rachel's DNA to lab; that should be back soon as well." He nodded. "You know what to do."

He left Nick standing there. A second later, Grissom heard footsteps behind him, and he knew that the young CSI was stepping up to the challenge. Taking the exit, he quickly got in his car, heading straight for Sara's apartment.

His mind whirled as he got out and stepped into the elevator. _What could possibly be going on? _Sara fit Mackenzie's profile – had she been hurt? His heart skipped a beat as he considered this possibility, and he cursed the elevator for rolling amicably up at its own leisurely pace. He had never wanted to see her more in his entire life.

He paused when he arrived at her door, a surge of anxiety washing over. _What if she really wasn't okay?_ _No, that couldn't be possible, Nick wouldn't have left her. _But what if... He was only good with dead people, and Sara dead… even the thought brought a sick feeling to his stomach. He had always taken the presence of Sara Sidle for granted, something that could be put off, something that he could deal with later. He had never considered that it could just… disappear.

Hesitantly, he ran the doorbell. When no one responded, he tried again. "Sara?" he asked, a lump starting to form in his throat. "Sara? It's Gil. Please, open the door."

She opened it a second later, and he could immediately tell that she had been crying. "Griss," was all she said, and a moment later, he found her in his arms. Instinctively, he hugged her back, letting the feeling of her sink into him. She had a wiry frame, yet he had never realized how frail she actually felt.

"I'm here," he whispered. "Sara, I'm here."

She was outright sobbing now, and he let her have a moment to calm herself before he slowly maneuvered the two of them into her apartment and closed the door behind him. He sat them down on the couch. "It's okay," he told her as he stroked her hair. "I'm here." His heart was still pounding in his chest – he wasn't sure from what.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you sooner."

"Told me what, Sara?" he asked softly.

"Boston. Sixteen years ago. They thought they caught him but it's him, I know it's him, we put the wrong man in jail, it's him, it's him, it's him…"

The pieces suddenly snapped into place. That was what had been missing. That was what had seemed so familiar about this case – there had been an assault on a young Harvard undergrad sixteen years ago that mirrored almost exactly the same circumstances. He had just never considered pulling up the details of the case since he had hardly remembered, but he was seeing the report as clear as day now, just as he read it sixteen years before. Without a word, his hand slid over to her sleeves, and he pulled them back a bit to reveal what he had feared to see: the thin, elevated lines of scars stretching cleanly across her pale wrists.

Suddenly, he found his mouth on hers, her body pulled in for a closer embrace. In retrospect, he supposed that he had just acted on impulse – clearly he had not thought at all. She jerked, a little surprised at first, perhaps at his audacity, but responded a second later. He felt her sweetness flood into him as her tongue met his. _God, I waited how many years for this? _In a sudden moment, he hated himself. _All for a little awkwardness and a little bit of what I considered… what, self-dignity? _All this he finally discovered, at the mercy of losing it entirely.

They finally broke away. "Sara," Grissom heard himself say, feeling a wetness on his cheeks he wasn't entirely sure was only from her tears, "I swear, I'm not going to let him win. He's not taking you from me."

"Taking me?" Sara asked. "But he's not – we're only trying to catch –"

"No, it's not like that." Grissom hated the words coming out of mouth. He wished he could deny them, but he knew it wouldn't do either of them any good. "He's started killing again for a reason. After sixteen years… these people, everything they do is calculated. He must have laid low for a while, seeing as you survived, but sixteen years is a long time and…" he paused. "He's going to try to finish his job."

He could see that she was trying to face up, and he wished he could be half as brave. "Hey," she finally replied, a little quirk in her voice, "I've done it once before." She took his hand. "And I didn't even have you around."

Grissom smiled weakly, thinking, as he let her lean back on his arm. At this point, he figured there really wasn't too much he could do. These people were smart, uncannily so at times, and there was no knowing what this killer already knew about Sara. A sudden chill slithered through his spine as he considered the possibilities. Could the killer know where Sara lived? He cursed himself for not bringing his gun, and a quick glance around the room told him Sara didn't either.

He felt her snuggle up against him, and he put his arm around her, drawing her in. _Fool, fool, fool_, he thought bitterly. But there wasn't much use in dwelling on his mistakes – he just had to not make anymore. He stole a glance at her, and saw that her eyes were closed. There was no knowing if she was already asleep, but he didn't want to bother her. She had been through quite enough for more than one day.

He thought about calling Brass. What would that do? He could tell that Sara didn't want any more people knowing about what had happened to her; he wondered if she would even tell the rest of the team. That was up to her, and Grissom had no right to spill anything that personal. He couldn't just leave her to get his gun, and he didn't want to bring her back into the lab, to where she had to face the brutality all over again. She looked so peaceful as she just lay there against his shoulder, and he decided that he would just stay with her. _Sometimes, you don't have to do anything_, he realized.

He had just about dozed off lightly when he thought he heard something at the door. Suddenly awake, he paused, listening carefully. For a second, all he could hear was Sara's even breathing, and he relaxed. Then again – he heard that noise. It was like something was scratching at the door, something metallic… He tensed. Sitting up, he crouched at the edge of the sofa.

Sara stirred from her sleep. "Grissom?" she asked woozily, lifting her head. He silenced her with a look, then turned back to the door. The noise came again, and this time, Sara sat up. Their gazes met, and Grissom knew that she was thinking the same thing he was.

Quietly, he motioned for her to go into the kitchen and call the police, and she complied, getting up from the sofa silently. Then suddenly – there was a click, and Grissom knew that it was too late. Adrenaline pumped through his body as he held his breath, waiting for the right moment.

The door opened slowly, and a short man strode in purposefully, closing the door behind him. He paused when he saw Grissom, then his face broke into a wide smile.

"Ah, Dr. Grissom. I can't say I ah, expected to find you here."

Grissom stopped. He had seen this man somewhere before… the store! The truth came crashing down on his head. _The killer was the one who was least obvious_. Grissom had thought nothing of the awkward, nervous little man who had reported the body. Yet he was the one behind it all, committing the crime in his own backyard. It was the perverse brilliance that was so typical of a serial killer.

"Get away from her," Grissom replied coldly.

"I would say that, perhaps, as her supervisor, your presence here is just as unwarranted as mine," the man responded, that smile still on his face. Something moved in his hand, and Grissom caught a glint of metal. The killer's eyes flicked over to something behind Grissom, and Grissom realized with horror that Sara had frozen in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen. "Ah, there you are. Grown a bit since Harvard, haven't you? Still nice though." He turned his gaze back to Grissom. "I would be angry if I was going to lose her, too."

A strange rage welled up in Grissom, and suddenly, he launched himself off the sofa towards the man, pinning him against the wall in one move. The man struggled, and suddenly, Grissom found a knife twirling in his face, the light reflecting off blinding him in the eyes as it flashed back and forth. He moved, trying to avoid the blade as the man slashed at his face. He felt a slight sting as the blade nicked the tip of his ear, and he heard Sara's gasp as he sensed a warm, sticky liquid stream down the side of his face and neck. Gritting his teeth, he reached for the knife, grabbing at the man's wrist and twisting it until he finally heard the metal clang as it fell on the floor.

"I swear," he whispered in the man's face, "if you lay one finger on her, I will kill you myself, you sick bastard."

The man chuckled through his pained expression. "You should know, Dr. Grissom," he replied in a strained voice, "the knife was for her. Luckily, I brought extra precautions." In a swift motion, he twisted one hand free, and suddenly, Grissom found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Now," the man said calmly, "let go of me, or I blow your brains out before I do your girlfriend."

Grissom paused, trying to think on his feet. The knife was a couple feet away, but he had to bend down to get it, thereby exposing a clean shot to Sara…no. He suddenly realized that was the key. The man was a creature of habit. He had always killed his victims with this knife, and that's the only way he was going for Sara. As long as Grissom could keep the knife away… and himself alive, Sara was safe. Holding his breath, and hoping to dear God that his line of reasoning was correct, he bent down for the knife.

He heard the click of the gun as, presumably, it swung for Sara. "Bad move, Dr. Grissom," the man said. "Look, a clean shot in the head for me. Boom."

"Is that so?" Grissom asked, standing with the knife in his hand. "That would be too easy for you, wouldn't it? No, you're all about power. The power to make someone suffer. You're not going to let her off that easy."

The gun swung to point at him again. "So, you're saying that I should kill you, get my knife back, and proceed as planned?"

"Grissom, no!" Sara's voice pleaded behind him. "Grissom, please, don't do it. He's going to do it no matter what. It's not worth it. Just leave, just go, just drive away, you don't want to be here…"

_Drive away… what was she saying?_ Grissom glanced back at Sara, who was looking at him desperately.

"That's right, you don't." The man's voice cut through his thoughts. "Watching someone else screw your girlfriend is not a pleasant experience, I imagine."

Suddenly, Grissom realized what the Sara was trying to say. She was trying to buy time, time for him to drive back for help, and hopefully come back before the killer took his final blow. Unconsciously, the man had conveyed her message with his scathing remark. _Creature of habit… creature indeed_. The man had a one track mind, and for all the careful planning he had executed before, he now only had one thing in front of him, and was carelessly discarding everything else.

Perhaps finally, heart won over mind for Gil Grissom. Perhaps it was the selfishness that he wanted Sara for himself, no matter how logical her plan was, no matter how many million times it was better than the feeble idea he had in his head. The man had a clear agenda – rape first, then kill. But he knew he would not be able to leave her apartment, even if it was to get help, knowing what she was going to suffer through. _Not Sara_… "No, I told you," he said firmly, "I'm not going to let him win."

"Win?" The man guffawed. "Win, sir? I've already won. All right, then, I suppose I could say you asked for this. Er, I'm not one for goodbyes, so I might as well make it quick and painless." He grinned that grin again. "Well, at least, for you."

There was a shot and a scream, and for a second, Grissom thought he had been hit. He staggered backwards, yet a couple seconds later, it was clear there was no bullet through his face. When he finally began to process what he was seeing, he realized that he was facing the figure of Nick Stokes in the doorway, a smoking gun still outstretched in front of him, the body of the store owner slumped on the floor with a pool of blood slowly flooding out onto the golden wood underneath. A furious Brass was off cursing somewhere in the hallway.

Nick seemed as dazed as Grissom. "Oh hell," was all the young CSI said. "Oh hell."


	7. Chapter 7: Sara

_Well, I can't promise the same amount of excitement (or romance, which is also quite exciting!) as there was in the last two chapters. Wow those were fun to write. Not so fun for our favorite geek pals though, so I won't put them through anymore torture. _

_Oh, and I disclaimed CSI, but I never did a disclaimer for the title of this story! Disclaimer for the use of U2's song _Walk On_, and much love to Bono…_

_ And I hope you appreciate this... I pulled some serious ass trying to get this done! No, that's a lie, I had nothing better to do. /  
_

--

The radio was playing softly in the background as they sat around the table.

"Well, to be honest, I really had no idea what I was doing," Nick was confessing. The Texan had clearly been shook up, and Sara could see that his hands were still trembling a little as they lay on the smooth wooden surface. "I was honestly lost, so I just went back to the store parking lot, to you know, get back in the crime scene or whatever Griss calls it."

Grissom smiled from the other side of the table, next to Sara. "Try to see it happening," he agreed. "Good choice."

"Yeah well," Nick continued, "you know, it didn't really do anything, and I was about to leave when you know, well, he – the owner – came out and asked what I was doing." He swallowed. "He seemed nice, you know. Asked me to go in and stuff. So I did, I mean, I figured what the hell right? I followed him in, and he lead me around to the back, where he kinda had a little room to himself. A couple books, a couple chairs, a little counter where he had some food. He seemed like a pretty normal guy. I didn't think about it too much."

"Right, until he came back," Greg picked up. He nodded at Nick's shirt. "It's black right? Well, we were just going over some stuff again, 'cause honestly, we were all at a loss, when yours truly noticed some red fuzz on Nick's shirt. Kinda stood out, you know?"

"Not that we thought Nick was the killer," Catherine added quickly, "but we took a sample anyway just on a hunch—"

"_My _hunch," Greg made clear.

"Whatever. Anyway, it came back as the same horsehair material that was on the passenger seat."

"Right," Nick continued, "so I mean, that put the store owner in a pretty bad place, since after I thought about it, I realized that I had been sitting on a red chair while I had been talking to him. I wanted to go get a sample of the chair, but I needed a warrant, and Brass wouldn't give it to me considering…"

"The fact that he's Brass?" Warrick scoffed. Even after all these years, Warrick never gave up the chance poke some fun at the police chief. "Ain't too surprised."

"Yeah, well, anyway. He had seemed like such a nice guy, so I figured he would give me a sample of his chair anyway, so I was gonna head out again—"

"When he ran into me," Warrick explained. "I had just come back from the antiques shop." He shook his head. "You know, it just so happens that the shop I visit last is the one that actually knows jackcrap about horse hair… anyway, I run into Nick going down the hall, and he seems to be in a rush, so I just turned around and followed him out. We go back to that store, 'cept that old man's not there anymore. Anyway, while we're waiting around, I tell him what I learned: horse hair obviously isn't that common anywhere now, but back in them olden days, it was really popular 'round the East Coast. Must be some of them British things, you know? Anyway, I relay this point to Nicky, and all of a sudden he just gets this look on his face, and barrels outta there at ninety-five miles per hour."

At point in the story, Sara could see Nick give her a quick glance. She gave him a small crooked smile, and he mildly shrugged before turning back to the rest of the table.

"So anyway, Nick's zoomed off, and I had no idea where he had gone to, so I just take a look around, and guess what I find." Warrick held up an orange.

"Err, an orange?" Sara asked.

"An orange…!" Grissom said, revelation dawning on his face. "Orange juice!" Seeing Sara's confusion, he quickly added, "Doc reported traces of orange juice on the sides of Mackenzie's wounds, most likely a transfer from the weapon." He paused. "Well, he didn't say that. That was me. He had… more creative ideas."

"Yeah, well, you were right." Warrick turned the orange so that the top was facing them, and Sara could see a small X etched into the top. "My grandmother does this too. Marks an X with a knife so she can dig in better to peel it. Anyway, that coupled with the horse hair chair that Nicky mentioned, which I bagged anyway"—he held up a small plastic bag—"made me damn suspicious, so I phoned Catherine and Greg. Tried Nick too, but guess you don't talk on the phone when you drive, do you?" he asked.

"Only when I'm already breaking the law by going faster than the speed limit," Nick muttered.

There was a small interlude as everyone chuckled. Sara couldn't help but marvel at what her team had pulled off in such a short amount of time, especially considering the shape the case was in when she left. Of course, certain methods weren't exactly kosher, but honestly, she, out of anyone, had nothing to complain about.

"Yeah, but see the thing is," Warrick said after a moment, "what I can't figure out is how Nick just knew to go to your place." He glanced at Nick. "Man, he won't tell me anything."

"Well, I mean,_ I_ knew all along that Nick had superhero powers," Greg said sarcastically.

Sara knew this moment was going to come up sooner or later. From Greg's comment, she knew that Nick hadn't told anyone. She wasn't sure if she was grateful or not. Maybe it would have been easier if he had just talked. But she knew that was the cowardly way out. Underneath the table, she felt Grissom take her hand. _They're my team,_ she thought. _I owe it to them. _At least she had Grissom with her, and Nick as well.

"Well," she began. Strangely enough, no tears came, as they usually did when she even tried to think about what had happened. _There must be a point where there just aren't any tears left. _"Well, uh, sixteen years ago, in Boston, I was an undergrad at Harvard and one night I was coming back from class. Physics 397, actually. Experimental Condensed Matter. A friend and I had stayed back to ask the professor some questions, and she had her car, so we were driving back to my dorm. She had to stop at the convenience store for shampoo, so I just waited in the car. And then all of a sudden, this… there was just this shadow, and then someone was in the car. And then he was just… on top of me. I don't remember if I fought back or what, but it didn't matter, because he raped me anyway. He was wearing a condom. Gloves. Everything. And then, when he finished, he just pulled out a knife and took me by the wrists. I remember that too. He slashed them for me. It didn't hurt, but the blood was just coming out. It was everywhere. And he just left. I don't know why, I just kept pounding on the window, and this man came over. He had an old Red Sox hat on, and a Radiohead T-shirt. Brown hair, you know, sort of long. Green eyes. He opened the door and called 911 and… well, they thought they ended up catching the guy a couple months later."

There was a hushed silence. From under the table, Grissom squeezed her hand, and she squeezed it back. It was weird just having that story flow from her mouth. She hadn't realized she remembered it in all that detail. But in a peculiar way, she felt better than she had felt since they had found Mackenzie's dead body in that car.

"And that is why," Nick said quietly after a moment, "I knew to go to Sara's."

"East coast, huh," Warrick marveled. He raised his eyebrows. "Wow. That's… that's… lucky. Man, I don't have another word." He reached over, giving Sara a small hug. "But damn Sara, you're brave."

Catherine leaned over the table. "Sara," she said, and Sara could see tears in her eyes, "I know that you've probably heard it a million times, and honestly, I hate it 'cause it's become so clichéd. But I am so, so sorry. I had no idea, but I don't blame you for not saying anything, because, honestly, I don't think I would have had the courage to do what you just did. I would have been so damned scared."

There was a mumble of agreement around the table.

"It's fine," Sara replied. She _had_ heard that everyone was so, so sorry more than a million times, and she had responded in the exact same way each time. Funny thing was, she actually meant it this time. "I mean, we just move on right?" She smiled, slightly embarrassed. "And I mean, your past is nothing to joke about either. I'm sorry about what I said. As usual. And Greggo," she added, turning, "I'm sorry about what I said to you too."

Catherine smiled. "What did you say?" she asked innocently, giving Sara a small wink.

Greg, however, only shook his head disappointedly. "Experimental Condensed Matter, Sara? Physics 397? I don't think I can talk to you anymore." He grinned. "Naw, it's all cool. I know I'm annoying as hell sometimes."

There was another mumble of agreement around the table.

"But seriously," Greg continued, sobering up. "I don't really know how to say this besides just… I look up to you even more now."

"Oof, well," Catherine said, leaning back. "Grissom, I think you got competition."

Sara raised her eyebrows, trying to hide a smile as she turned to look at Grissom. She wasn't surprised that Catherine had guessed what had been going on between them through all these years, but she wasn't sure how Grissom was going to take such a public declaration.

Grissom frowned. "Back off, pal," he responded coolly. "You've lost already."

"Ooh, burn." Warrick shook his head. "Burn." He paused as what Grissom said sunk in. " 'You've lost already?' Wait, what—"

"—Is going _on_?" Catherine finished. She gave the two of them the most incredulous look.

Grissom only smiled.

"Gil, you asked her out without telling me?! I'm going to _kill _you!"

"Well," Grissom responded hastily, "it was a uh… sort of, spur of the moment thing." Sara nodded quickly, serving as much needed backup.

"Oh, well," Catherine conceded, still smoldering, "well. At least you'll stop complaining to me."

"What! I never complained—" Grissom started, but Catherine made a gesture that clearly indicated she was no longer listening and no longer cared. Grissom turned instead to Sara, who was trying her best to look angry. "I _never _complained."

"It's okay," Nick said loudly, much to Sara's chagrin, "she complained too." Seeing Sara's reaction, he stuck his tongue out in the rather convincing manner of an angry four-year old.

"Okay, children, party's over, and I'm hungry. What do we say, lunch on Warrick?" Catherine proposed, standing up.

"I say lunch on Greg," Warrick suggested over Greg's indignant noises.

Catherine considered this for a few moments. "Works for me. I'll meet you out in the parking lot." Pushing her chair in, she walked out, with a quarreling Warrick and Greg in tow.

"Nick," Grissom began as Nick stood up, "have you closed the case?"

Nick frowned. "Uh, no. I haven't."

Grissom raised his eyebrows. "Well, you better get on it. You're the lead CSI on this one."

Sara could tell Nick was taken aback by this. He glanced at her, and she gave him a small thumbs-up. "But—"

"I said I put you in charge," Grissom said. "That's in charge of everything."

Nick considered this for a moment. "Right," he finally said, nodding, and Sara could tell he was coming to terms with the idea. "Right, I'm on it."

"And Nicky?"

Nick turned around. "Yeah?"

"Thanks. For the both of us. I mean, I know that giving you a whole pile of paperwork is a lousy way of showing it, but… we wouldn't be here without you."

"Literatively and figuratively," Sara added.

Nick laughed. "Yeah. You're welcome." He paused. "Take good care of her, okay man? I mean, with all this paperwork, I can't do this all the time anymore." He grinned, then left the room.

The radio was still playing softly in the background as Grissom turned to face her. "I'm proud of you," he told her.

"I know," she responded. "It's what made it easier."

"Feel better?" he asked. "It's good to see you smile again."

"Yeah, I feel much better than I have for a while. Much lighter." She paused, listening to the radio. _And I know it aches, and your heart it breaks, and you can only take so much… walk on… _

"Fitting, isn't it?" Grissom asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "You didn't pay the radio company to play this, did you?"

"No, no, why would I do that?"

"No, you're right," she agreed. "It's too cheesy for you. I didn't even know you liked U2."

He gave her that look. "Closet U2 fan."

She leaned over, kissing him on the lips. "Mm, should have guessed."

"You're learning." He extended his hand. "Shall we?"

"We shall," she agreed, taking his hand and standing up.

_Leave it behind… you've got to leave it behind…_

"Think we should turn that off?" she asked. With Greg's appetite, there was no knowing how long they would be gone for.

"Nah. Ecklie has to deal with the electricity bill, not me."

He put his arm around her as they closed the door and walked on out.


	8. Epilogue: Nick

_Yayyyy epilogue! I dunno, I figured there was a good pattern with the entire alternating Sara/Grissom thing, but I had to stick Nicky in here somewhere… _

_Anyway, thanks for sticking with me to the bitter end, or if you're just reading it now, hey, you didn't have to go through that god-awful year long wait! (I apologize again…) I hope you enjoyed it. Now that we know Grissom + Sara ____ 3 + eternal happiness (I thought it only fitting I write that out like a balanced chem equation for those two), I might write a cute little story about life with the Grissoms and their Geeky Family Friends. I dunno, tell me if this is a good idea (probably not. Just because I want to imagine domestic life married to Nick Stokes and Court TV nights every Thursday at 9 with the rest of the team…). IM me (AIM/MSN info in my personal profile) and we can discuss, or just say hi. 'Cause I like you guys._

_Thanks again!_

--

"Something tells me I'm going to regret this, right?" Grissom asked nonchalantly, but Nick could sense a tiny hint of nervousness behind his supervisor's cool voice. He tried to hide his smile, turning towards the window.

"Naw man," Warrick reassured Grissom, "paintballin's where it's at."

"Didn't we have a case where we encountered a game? It was the monk case," Grissom remembered. "It's just… shooting little balls of paint at people."

"Sounds like fun," Sara said from behind. Nick couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not. But then again, there was always a little bit of sarcasm in Sara Sidle. He turned around to say something to her, but Grissom had just put his arm around her, and Nick quickly decided against it and turned around again. He could hear Greg shift a little awkwardly to the side.

With Warrick driving and Catherine calling shotgun, it had been a free-for-all for the rest of the van. Sara and Grissom were happy to call the back for themselves, leaving Greg, Doc Robbins, and Nick to fight it out for the third seat next to the couple. Nick had easily overpowered Greg, and even the young CSI had second-thoughts about hitting a crippled mortician, thereby accepting his seat next to Sara and Grissom.

"You know Greg," Grissom said without a trace of awkwardness, "we can stop if it makes you feel uncomfortable."

"No, you go right ahead," Greg muttered extremely uncomfortably. He leaned forwards. "Stokes, that seat's mine on the way back," he whispered into Nick's ear.

"Off, Greg," Nick replied, brushing at the side of his head. "I don't want your DNA on my face."

"Most women would pay for it."

"Pay for what?" Catherine asked loudly from the front seat. She turned around, eyebrow raised. "What, Greg?"

"Umm… hey, turn that up!" Greg shouted, clearly grateful for a distraction. "That's one of the best songs ever."

"Who?" Grissom asked as Warrick reached over and turned the knob.

"Who," Greg agreed.

"No, I mean, who…" Grissom started, but then trailed off as the familiar bassline kicked in. "Oh. The Who."

"Who?" Sara pushed, still confused.

"Who?" Nick asked for good measure. He grinned when he felt Sara bump his seat back, and he turned around. "Hey, it's not my fault you don't get out."

"WHOOOOOOOOOO ARE YOU, WHO WHO, WHO WHO??" Greg interrupted loudly, singing along with the song. "Come on guys, join in."

"No thanks, Greg," Catherine shouted from up front. She turned to Warrick. "You think you could get there any faster? I'm having this urge to shoot paintballs at Greg close range."

"I'm trying," Nick heard his friend replied through what sounded like gritted teeth. "Man Doc, can you hit him with your stick?"

Nick glanced over at the doctor, who seemed to be fast asleep in the seat next to him. Two white wires ran down from his ears. "He's got headphones in."

Warrick swore. "Smart man."

There was a moment in which only Pete Townsend crooned from the radio.

"Wouldn't it be ironic if we found a dead body on the road?" Greg piped up again after that blissful moment of silence.

"How would that be ironic, Greg?" Grissom asked.

Greg faltered. "Uh, well, I mean, usually we respond to the calls, right? And this time we'd be the ones finding it! And I mean, we'd be the ones calling other people in, because we're not on call –"

"What he's trying to say, Greg," Catherine explained, "is that, should we find a dead body, we're done paintballing."

"Sounds like I best avoid dead bodies then," Warrick muttered as he switched lanes. "Aw, come on, are you kidding me?" He let out a breath of frustration as the truck he had been trying to avoid swerved in in front of him.

Just like that, their van rolled down the Nevada high way.

Thirty minutes later (which, in Nick's opinion, was much too long), they finally pulled into the parking lot of the paintballing place. They quickly received their guns and their paint – except for Greg, who had his own.

"Own gun," he said proudly, brandishing his weapon. "Got it from a friend in college. And," at this point he flashed one of this smiles, "my own secret recipe for the paint. You ain't gonna get this baby off for a while. I've been developing it myself."

"Well, now we know what you're doing in that lab," Catherine responded wryly, loading her gun.

"So this is just a gun?" Grissom asked, looking his over. He seemed to be finding the thought of actually trying to shoot people slightly foreign.

"Yeah," Nick responded warmly. "You use it like any other. Just press the trigger—"

Grissom seemed to want to test this out, and without hesitation (or thinking it seemed, Nick decided later) pressed the trigger without first noting where the gun was pointed.

There was a stunned silence as the entire group watched the pellet of paint travel towards Warrick, who had been sizing up the playing field, and hit him squarely on the side of the face.

"What the –" Warrick began, reaching up to his face in surprise. "Sanders, if you…" he trailed off as he turned to see Grissom, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly open in an expression of complete confusion. "….Aw _hell_ no." Warrick shook his head. "It's on, boss, it's on."

Grissom paused for a moment, then dived – yes, _dived­ _– behind an upright wooden plank just as Warrick's pellets crashed down on the wood a second later. Seeing his chance, Greg quickly took his gun, aimed right for Catherine, shot it, then scampered off into the course. With a yell of anger, Catherine barely stopped to wipe the paint off before charging after Greg, screaming of bloody murder.

This left only Nick with Sara and Doc Robbins, and Nick felt two sharp stings as he was hit from both sides. Springing into action, he quickly shot one at Sara, who was going for the same wooden plank that Grissom had dived behind, before pursuing Doc Robbins.

Surprisingly, the mortician was nowhere in sight. Nick crept through the bales of hay, ducking from wayward shots and ignoring Greg's pleas for mercy from, presumably, Catherine, somewhere nearby. _Where was that doctor? He had only turned for a second…_

"Hey Nick!" someone shouted, and he turned to see something coming at his face. He ducked quickly, then sprang up in time to see Doc Robbins reloading. He quickly shot one himself, watching in satisfaction as black paint crashed on top of Robbins' head. "It's not over, Doc," he called. "It's not _close_ to being over."

"Whoo," Warrick's voice said from somewhere, and Nick realized that Warrick had crawled behind the same bale of hay. "_Dayum_ Nicky, he's crippled already. Go easy on him."

Nick made a gesture of indignation at the shot the doctor had laid on him. Warrick raised his eyebrows. "Nice." Quickly, he took his gun, and shot Nick on the same spot. "Yellow and blue make green, don't it? Hmm, isn't that the color of Grissom's gun? Gee, I think I saw him over there last."

"Don't you know, the splatter's different," Nick responded as he shot Warrick back just as quickly. "Just look at the rims of the paint – you shot me at close range, and Doc shot me from afar. Any level one CSI could tell you that this came from two different guns." Leaving Warrick, he ran off to find the doctor.

Doc Robbins seemed to have a knack for disappearing, and once again, Nick found himself completely lost. Deciding he would wait for Robbins to come to him, he crouched behind a bale of hay.

"Nick!" someone whispered, and he turned to see Greg cowering. "Nick, she's going to kill me."

"Aw man, you earned it." Nick popped Greg a good one on the shoulder. "At least when you die, Grissom will be around to figure out what happened."

"No, see, that's also a problem," Greg begged desperately, "I shot Sara in the face. I think he's going to kill me too."

"No, I think he has something better in store. I bet he'll feed you to his cockroaches. And then put you in with his fetal pig. Hey, good view of the office, right?"

"You're a good friend, Nick. You're a good friend. I appreciate that."

Nick grinned. "Anytime."

The game raged on. Allegiances changed just as rapidly as the game itself progressed (at some point, Grissom and Sara were involved in a full shoot out, which finally ended when both of them rounded on Warrick, who was failing miserably at imitating the high-noon sound effect in cowboy movies), and Nick found himself covered in all colors. As they finally wearily boarded the van again as the sun slowly began to creep over the horizon, it was all Nick could do to keep his sore body awake.

He paused as he began to board, then stepped down. "Yo Greggo," he said. "You can have my seat."

Greg's surprise was apparent even through the layers of paint. "But you totally killed me at paintball. I forfeited."

Nick shrugged. "Yeah well, I'm letting you have it." He smiled. "Just take it, Sanders. Grace offering, you know how it is."

Greg nodded, and clambered in. Nick let Sara and Grissom climb into the back before he followed after them, and Doc Robbins stepped in to fill up the last seat next to Greg. Checking that they were all set, Warrick started the car.

As they slowly rolled out of the parking lot, with the sun now streaming into the windows, Nick laid his head back on the seat. His cheek still throbbed where the butt of Sara's gun had hit him when they had collided full force into each other, and he had a feeling there was going to be a nasty bruise there for the next couple of days. He stole a glance at her. She was already asleep, head on Grissom's shoulder. Grissom himself had his arms around her, and he was absently playing with her hair as he looked out the window, clearly deep in thought.

Smiling, Nick turned away from them as he closed his eyes. _Everything's going to work out_ _fine._ _What did I tell you, Sara? _It just took a little bit of time, a little bit of digging, and a little bit of understanding. He let the soft bumping of the car slowly lull him into sleep. No doubt things were bustling back at the lab, as they always were, and after a much-needed rest, they were all ready to jump back into the game.


End file.
